Grave
by Borath
Summary: Yami digs a grave as a favour to Yugi and remembers something important an innocent life taken. Warnings for profanity and something of a morbid outlook on life.


I don't own Yugioh.  Never have and if the universe stays as it is I never will either. Weird stuff written at idiot-o-clock after seeing Eminem's video for 'Cleaning Out My Closet'.  It was a powerful image and I wanted to see what I could do with it. Not a song-fic by any means so don't just press 'back' like I usually do when confronted with one.  My own views trickle in which usually happens when I do POV.  Grave 

(Yami's POV)

It really was crap earth.  Bad dirt.  Thick, sticky, clumping around the blade of the shovel and making it difficult to drive the metal back into the ground over and over.  Of course the sodding rain wasn't helping matters but the clay soil was just shit for digging in the first place.  Heavy.  Resisting.  Unyielding.  

Pausing for a moment in his repetitive actions, he leant his weight against the splintering handle of the shovel and rolled his shoulders, alleviating some of the knots in the muscles there, his soaked jacket chafing his skin in a most uncomfortable manner.

Dropping the tool with a satisfying sound to the damp ground he struggled out of his sopping jacket and shirt, shivering with relish when the rain finally hit bare skin, washing away sweat and soothing the fires in his arms and back a little so that the pains were more bearable.  Lightening cracked and thunder rolled above him and he closed his eyes against the sounds.  

He loved thunderstorms.  It was probably to do with the fact that he had been trapped in dark isolation inside a Millennium Item for thousands of years, the sheer energy and sounds in the air during storms treats in themselves compared to that despairing void.  Add to that the fact that his past life had been in Egypt and it became obvious as to why storms fascinated him so.

But there was no time for indulgence now, not when there was work to be done.  Collecting the shovel from the ground once again he drove it back into the pile of soil, grunting with the effort the water in the dirt made the motion require.  Slinging it back into the deep ditch he returned the blade to the pile and repeated the process, over and over again, ignoring the pangs in his palms as splinters were driven deeper and blood started to trickle, mingle.

Why had he made the hole so deep; a deep, bottomless pit of death that he had made and now had to fill?  Why was he out here in the middle of the night in the pouring rain and howling wind digging a grave?

Oh yes.  Yugi had asked it of him.  

A deer had been injured somewhere, the poor creature having taken its last staggering steps just down the street from the Game Shop and slumped to the ground lifeless and empty.  When his Hikari had seen it his overly large heart had throbbed and he had asked imploringly for a burial for the poor beast.  

No emotion had crossed his face when he had nodded sharply, merely wrapping an old blanket around the animal and carrying it back to the shop.  Taking it round the back he had set it down and started digging at the end of the garden.  The hole was dug, the animal lowered and then he had started covering the grave.  

The task was oddly familiar to him, a little quirk of a feeling that tugged at the back of his mind and niggled at his heart as he methodically dumped more mud into the hole, filling it, hiding it.  

Removing a hand from the wooden handle he rubbed at the muscles running through his arms, the whipcords lengths screaming at him, voicing their disapproval at the raw abuse he was ramming them through.  Mud smeared his form now as well as cool rain and hot sweat.  Why had he made this hole so damned deep?

At least the sticky mud was keeping the sides of the grave good and stiff, stopping the surrounding earth from caving in and creating more of a problem.  So much easier than sand which moves as if it has a sadistic mind of its own.  Sand graves were hard compared to this, with the blazing sun and the splintering wood.

He was on his knees before he realized his legs had given out, the shovel falling abandoned to the puddle-laden ground as slender hands lost themselves in his sodden hair, fingers digging white into his skull, vainly willing the pain there to recede.  It ebbed a little but did not leave entirely, a dull ache sitting at the back of his head and flaring tendrils at his temples in time with the tempo of his pulse.

Another peel of thunder and he closed his eyes, surprised when he saw something playing beneath his lids, the pain flaring intensely as he witnessed the memory.  He'd had flashbacks of his past before but they were always in dreams.  Never before had he been assaulted so brutally by a memory whilst awake.

Sand.  Hot.  Creeping into his sandals and grinding into the soles of his feet.  Hands were hot and clammy, splinters embedded deep and sweat dripping onto them from his face.  Chest heaving, also slick.  His breath burned and froze every time it entered him in pants.

Muscles burned, spine screamed and he wouldn't be able to raise his head properly for a while.  A dead man also a slave.  An accident.  He's kicked a peg in frustration, an important one.  The scaffolding failed and the slave fell.  Landed hard on unforgiving ground.  It was his fault.  A slave who was also a man with a family, had children who ate slightly stale bread whilst mother worked hard to keep clothing on their backs.  His fault.  Had to hide it.

Mantra in his head then.  A chant.  Keep it hidden.  No one could know.  No one saw the accident; he could make a hidden grave.  His guilt was enough for this man's memory.  Enough for his soul. 

Damn sand kept caving in though, made it hard to work.  The sun was starting to set and night's chill was going to settle soon and freeze the sweat on his body into a tight shell, his joints seizing and his tears sticking to his cheeks.  A deep grave was what was needed but the sand kept caving in.  It was frustrating.  Anger was good though; gave strength to dig and strength for self-loathing, which was what he deserved.

As quickly as the memory came it left, deeming his suffering to be enough and leaving him alone and shivering in the wet and the mud.  Eyes wide and red, muscles burning and hands bleeding.  

Bloody rain.  Made the mud sticky.  Clung to his knees like a hungry child when he tried to stand.  Almost liquid it was creeping through his trousers now but no matter; his chest and arms were already smothered.  Face was smeared too where he had wiped a muddy arm across his cheeks and forehead.  Rainwater creeping into his eyes, mingling with salty sweat and making them burn.  Corners were prickling with tears now.  Stupid memories.  Fucking grave.

Life, death.  Death, life.  Where was the difference?  No one understood either in its' entirety and both were either blissful or torturous.  Life had love and hate.  Death had release and loss.  Both hurt someone else and both helped someone else.  Or yourself.  Depends on your religion.

Both hurt him right then.

Remembered he was a murderer but now looked after a child, ancestor, relationship hovering between brother and son.  Burying an animal that wasn't his concern but was bid of him by his charge.  Sweat was trickling in again, mingling with tears and rain, burning, itching, an oddly delicious pain.  Welcomed.  Deserved.

He hadn't realised that he was done until the blade met with flat ground, the mound of soil all relocated and serving it's purpose; covering, disguising, keeping the facts of the universe hidden from the eyes of those who were too young to see it.  

Yugi had seen death before.  Small animals.  Hamsters.  Gerbils.  Little creatures.  Insignificant on one scale but enormous on another.  Cold, solid little things from where they were once warm and soft.  Death itself was one thing but hiding it away was another.  Watching dirt being dumped onto a bare body was something that few could watch or stand responsible for.  

A box or margarine tub made it easier; you could pretend that it was empty when you committed it to a soil prison.  Bury the box not the creature that was once living and moving and eating and screwing to make other little living things.

He couldn't tell if it was good or bad that he could do this; bury a body when he could see glassy eyes and slick fur.  Good that he had the stomach for it or bad that he had such a detachment.  Less human?  Less love for our friends of nature and all that save the whales crap?

Hidden now; helped by the rain, slicking the mud together, sealing joints and smiling soothingly at him that it was hiding it for him.  He didn't have to worry about this one.  Didn't have to work for hours into the night to hide the grave, hide the evidence that shit happened in the universe and that you dealt with it as you could.

Rain was letting up now, washing away the last of his tears and washing most of the sweat down to his hips, the salty liquid sitting at his belt and struggling into his pants, coiling down his legs and making the hidden skin tingle.  

Mud stained, sweat slicked and generally a sopping mess.  Yes, Yugi's Grandpa was sure going to be pissed at him.  It would turn to understanding when he learned that it was due to sticking an animal in the ground.  Making graves elicited compassion like that.  

Handy that when guilt was niggling.  Compassion.  Nice, fuzzy emotion that warmed the heart and told the soul little white lies that would let the body rest for at least a night before logic caught up and the mind actually realized.

Murderer.  Nice thing to remember when hiding death. 

One less surprise to get in his dreams though.  Better to remember that sort of thing in isolation rather than in a dream when his Hikari could wander on in from his own Soul Room and take a peek at what he was really capable of.  Yugi was surprised when he had agreed to service the deer so easily.  Innocent boy.  Trusting.  Undecided whether that needed to be preserved or corrected in this world.

A shower, hot one, and some spicy smelling foam to rub into his tired muscles and mud slicked hair.  Wash away the pain and some of the memories but eave the spiritual ones alone.  He needed them, moulded off of them.  It was important to do that; improved that way.  It bloody hurt like a bitch but it was better for you in the long run.

Grave was a complete secret now.  He would have no trouble finding it in the morning; he knew where it was.  Yugi would know it was somewhere around but no one else would guess it was there. No one else would know what secrets that little patch of ground held within it.  More secrets now that he knew what he had done.  Could deal with that later though.  Shower first and then sleep.  Years ahead for denial, self-pity, anger and eventual acceptance.  

Smooth ground.  No grass.  Burned up in the heat wave so the ground was naked.  Easier to hide this way.  Made even easier by wet mud and slithering rain.

Maybe it wasn't really crap earth after all.

End

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End file.
